Daylight Fading
by therealmnemo
Summary: Marian Hawke lives in a cottage on the Wounded Coast with her mother and twin siblings. She spends every evening on her dock as the light fades, mourning a father that never came home and looking for a childhood friend she hopes would return. Another Mer winds up on her beach and it's just the start of her new problems. Pt 3 of You Better Start Swimmin' or You'll Sink Like a Stone.


She couldn't stop looking at his tail.

Her foot, lightly cradled in the boy's hands, was bleeding and her clothes were soaked, but she couldn't stop looking at his tail.

Scales in shades of yellow and orange covered what should be legs, there were two golden fins near where his hips would be and another set further down close to the nearly transparent fluke. She watched as he flipped it out of the water, glittering gold in the sun.

A bright green light brought eyes back to her foot, and the long scrape disappeared under his hands. The boy made a clicking noise and her gaze drifted up to a toothy smile and warm golden eyes that carried his pride.

She reached out to touch the golden scales under his eyes. They reflected the sunlight and made his eyes twinkle. His eyes followed her hands as they trailed to the gills behind his ears. She handled fish all her life, but this was a wholly new experience; the boy giggled at the sensation.

The scene shifted.

They're both exhausted from swimming all day. She threw off her swimming mask and looked back just as he reached for her to slip a small yellow seaflower behind her ear. She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

" **Marian Hawke**!"

She pulls away, her father's voice calling from the cottage.

"Wake **up** , Hawke."

The vision of golden scales slowly assumed shape of the smattering of freckles across Aveline's face. Hawke blinked twice before a swift smack of a palm slapped the flat of her skull below her long, black ponytail.

"What the **fuck** , Aveline," Hawke whispered through clenched teeth at the redhead in the pew to her right. It wasn't her fault that the Chantry services spouted the same bullshit week after week. It could be worse, she could have been snoring.

Another sharp assault came from the pew behind them.

"We are in the **Maker's house** , you brat. Pay attention."

Hawke grabbed the back of her head and rubbed furiously as she turned to glare daggers at her brother, Carver. The smug bastard grinned back as he crossed his arms. When she looked over to complain to her mother, she found both her and Bethany still focused on the Grand Cleric and her sermon.

"- by the Divine Faustine. On her holy order, the last Exalted March would finally release the world from the danger of magic. We wear our crosses in reverence to the Exalted, those who lay down their lives for their brethren-"

Hawke rolled her eyes and twisted the Chantry cross round her neck between her fingers. Every week rows upon rows of Kirkwall's faithful filled the pews to listen about the dangers of magic. Magic that just did not exist anymore. Hawke seriously doubted if it had in the first place; she equated the weekly sermons to the fairy tales her father read to her when she was a child.

Hawke's left leg bounced with latent energy. A long slender hand grabbed her thigh to hold it still. She looked to the source and noticed her leg was knocking her cousin Charade's hand while she tried to take notes. Hawke took the hint and crossed her legs, letting the fidgeting transfer to biting her nails.

This is a waste of time, we could be fishing right now. Hawke huffed and picked up the program for the day's service and flipped through it for the fifth time. There was one more final call to action and they could finally leave.

" -though rare, they hold the only magic left in this world. Our crosses protect us from the feral creatures. Any Mer sightings should be reported to the Chantry immediately. Brother Sebastian will lead us in prayer- "

Hawke made a small disgusted noise as she remembered long golden hair that tickled her face.

Feral creatures, my ass.

"I wasn't snoring, was I?" Hawke whispered as she bowed her head and leaned towards Aveline.

"Why do you think I hit you?"

"Shit."

If she was snoring, that meant there would be a lecture from her mother on the way home today. Thankfully, Carver had to go straight to the Aquarium after the service and she wouldn't have to deal with his gloating.

" - Maker be with you. "

Hawke jumped to her feet as soon as the congregation mumbled their response. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot while Charade took her time arranging her notes and tucking them away in a leather bag. Her cousin's split of the family inheritance went to buying the failing Kirkwall newspress. Charade never attended the Chantry services without notebook in hand, and her reporters known as 'Red Jennies' were littered throughout the pews. Every time Hawke asked what she was writing about, all she got in response was ' Something Big. '

Once Charade gathered herself, she made a pointed look at Hawke's demeanor and responded with a two-finger salute. Of course Charade would co-opt the rude gesture and make it a trademark of her Jennies. Whenever the press were invited to events, the two-fingers stood out in a sea of raised hands. Offensive, yet effective - just like Charade.

Hawke returned the gesture and blew her a kiss using the same digits as the filed out of the pews. Both women barely held in their laughter as they wrapped an arm around each other's waist when they exited the Chantry; the rest of the family trailed not far behind.

"You coming out to the house for dinner later?" Hawke asked.

Charade pulled her arm back from Hawke to switch her leather pouch back to her usual shoulder.

"I think I might, depends on how long it takes to get these notes filed away."

"Ah, fine. I'll have Mom set a place for you anyway, just in case."

Hawke leaned in to give her cousin a quick hug before she shuffled off towards the Lowtown District where she still lived with Uncle Gamlen. Hawke's siblings had each other growing up, but Charade was the one that grew up beside her along with Aveline.

It was Aveline's hand on Hawke's shoulder next, she knew the redhead needed to get back to her own duties. The law didn't rest on the day of the Maker with everyone else.

"You too, Aveline? Mom's frying the flounder tonight!"

"Sorry Hawke, I'll be out late tonight." Aveline leaned in to squeeze Hawke in a one-armed hug. "I'll make it over this week Leandra. Promise!"

Leandra was occupied with fussing over Carver, but she spared Aveline a quick nod.

"You better, Marian brought in a good haul this week, but they're not selling well."

Hawke nodded in agreement with her mother.

"Rather eat it fresh. Drying it out in the summer months is a hassle."

Carver took the brief exchange as an out and slipped away from the group. Hawke grinned as he struggled with the large bag that held his Templar robes. She knew Carver hated 'wearing a dress' and took every opportunity to remind him of it; however, she really couldn't fault him for getting a job with the Chantry's organization, they were the largest employer in the Free Marches and pretty much ran the education system. Unlike Hawke, he wasn't eager to hop into the family business after their father passed away.

"Duly noted. Well, enjoy the rest of your evening. I'm just going to follow Carver uptown." Aveline waved at the remaining Hawke women and caught up with Carver as he fled in the direction of Hightown.

Hawke offered a small wave of her own before her mother pulled on her free hand. It didn't matter that Hawke just celebrated her 22nd birthday this past year or that Beth was a freshly-graduated 18, Leandra always held their hands on the walk home from Chantry services. Years ago, her father would take her other hand and Carver's as well. It was a ritual Hawke wouldn't, no, couldn't question.

"Well, I don't think I'm going to cast out tonight. I forgot we still have all that flounder."

"What are you going to do instead? Take a nap?"

Hawke felt her mother's hand squeeze her own with an emphasis on 'nap'. A small giggle escaped Bethany from the other side of Leandra.

"Ugh, Mom. I'm sorry, I just… it's just so boring in there. It's the same thing every, single, week."

"Your father always thought it was important for us to go."

"Yeah well, look how well his 'faith in the Maker' helped him."

The words spilled out before she could take them back as her mother inhaled sharply; she waited for the argument that usually followed her outbursts about her father.

Leandra only sighed in resignation.

The walk back to the Wounded Coast continued in silence, letting Hawke's work overtime in picking apart her argument in her mind. She couldn't help but stick to the stubborn point in her mind that he had drowned. His boat capsized in a storm and he never came home. That damned Chantry cross hung from his neck and he still went under with his ship.

Where was the damn Maker then?

* * *

After they finished dinner, Bethany stayed inside with Leandra to clean up while Hawke walked out on the dock. She tugged her old green sundress over her head and dropped it at her feet. Once she adjusted the thick straps of her red suit top, she hopped into the water.

Hawke spent every evening on the dock and her reason for doing so fluctuated over the years. It started as a silly thing, back when she was only eight. The golden Mer that filled her dreams was a memory. She maintained over the years that she wasn't imagining him, that they'd spent the whole day together, that he had healed her foot and… she kissed him. Her father would just pat her head and laugh. Every night before bed, she's sneak out to the dock and lay down beside the chain to the crab traps, waiting for him to show up again. Every morning she'd wake up in her bed and figured her father collected her after she fell asleep.

This continued until the summer after she turned seventeen, the summer of the accident. Hawke refused to step foot near the beach for a month. One night she had a particularly nasty argument with her mother about how she was coping and ended up back on the dock. Instead of waiting for her 'imaginary friend', she swam. She dove until she felt the sand and dug her hands in, held her breath until her lungs burned before kicking frantically to the surface. When she could barely move she pulled her body up onto the dock, right next to the crab trap release, and passed out.

The next morning, she was still on the dock. Seagulls woke her with their shrill cries and the morning heat left her groggy. Her father hadn't picked her up in the night, and never would again. Stubborn like her mother and her ritual of holding hands with her daughters, Hawke continued to come to the dock. She didn't fall asleep there anymore, but she practiced swimming, treading water, holding her breath.

Tonight, she held onto one of the support beams and flutter kicked to exhaustion. Not satisfied with only her legs pushed to the limit, she used her arms to climb down the beam until her head was submerged. She held her breath while small bubbles escaped, the muscles in her throat twitched. When she felt the fire, she pulled up to break the surface. She gasped as she pulled herself back up on the dock.

She stretched out on her stomach, settled her forehead on her arms, and watched the small ripples in the water through the space between the planks. Every muscle in her body ached, and she closed her eyes while the sun settled on the horizon A dream about a young Mer pulling her father from his boat played along her sub-conscious.

A small tug on her hair pulled her mind back to the present. She shook her head loose and caught sight of the culprit. Shining green eyes stared back at her from the water under the dock, but what pulled her gaze were the violet scales running along elven ears.

She pulled a hand down her face and failed to contain the snort of disgust at the fucking odds of what was staring her in the face.

"The Maker sure has a fucked up sense of humor. Let's see how much we can poke Marian Hawke until she snaps."


End file.
